Tell It All About Me
by Bora Olldashi
Summary: Follow Eric into his past as he relives the medieval memories of his travels with Godric, his first true love, and the bitter circumstances of her true death while Pam struggles to accept his revelations.
1. First Sight

**This is a repost after the wonderful Beta services of BathshebaRocks =) With her assistance, I've been able to make the story flow a bit more and smooth over some of those dates. Charlaine Harris and Allan Ball own all this stuff. Enjoy!**

"Interesting, Compton. I hadn't pegged you as a techie," Eric said, raising a sardonic eyebrow as he scrolled through the database that Bill had compiled. "Isn't that what the humans call it these days?"

Bill furrowed his brow in a faint grimace. "I do believe that is the modern vernacular, Eric, yes," he responded in his slow, Confederate drawl. "Belittle it as you may, this is a very useful device for our kind." The tone of pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Eric glanced briefly at Pam, who rolled her eyes. He suppressed a smirk and continued to scroll through the pages of vampire lineage.

"Quite," Eric responded, distracted by the screen. After a few moments of silence, Bill shuffled his feet in an impatient gesture.

"Come, Bill. I'm sure you're anxious to depart so that you can attend to whatever it is you do with your time," Eric truly was at a loss when considering how the younger vampire filled his nights. Pam snickered at his remark and he shot her a quick grin. Bill 'hmphed' and followed Eric out of the office, through the back entrance of Fangtasia. Finally outside, Eric pulled crisp bills from the pocket of his blue jeans and counted out a fair number of them to hand to Bill in payment for the software.

"You are aware that with Sophie Anne in this condition, we in Louisiana are in a very precarious position," Bill said slowly, clearly uncomfortable speaking with Eric in political matters but apparently feeling it needed to be acknowledged.

"I am also aware that you are a master of the obvious, Bill," Eric returned sarcastically, staring into Bill's face.

After a tense moment, Bill nodded tersely. "Well as you said, I must be off. I thank you for your contribution and I do hope you find the software meets your needs," with that he turned on his heel and flitted across the parking lot to his vehicle at vampire speed.

Eric closed his eyes, more than aware of the sensitivity of their position; the queen lying crippled and only one of her three guardians having survived the nightmare at the conference a few weeks before. There was blood in the water of Louisiana and the sharks had already begun to circle. He drew in a breath and huffed it out quickly, something that he found to be calming. Sometimes. He opened his eyes and walked slowly back into Fangtasia.

Pam was sitting at the desk when he returned to his office, fully absorbed by the computer program. Before he could utter a snide remark about jumping into his grave so quickly, she spoke.

"Who is Aisha Norde?" her ice blue eyes flicked from the screen to his face. If his heart could still beat, it would have stopped in that moment. "It says here that Godric was her Maker?"

"No," Eric said, before he could stop himself. His tongue felt like a brick in his mouth, heavy and dry. His vision blurred for a moment and he sat heavily on the couch against the wall, dropping his face into his hands.

"Eric, what is it?" Pam jumped up, alarmed, knocking the chair over behind her.

He held one hand in the air, gesturing that he was fine. "Godric was not her Maker," he said, voice muffled by the hand that his face still rested in. He scrubbed it over his skin and looked up to meet Pam's eyes. "I was."

The silence that ensued was thick, charged, stifling in it's absoluteness. Suddenly, Eric stood and leaned his head back, face pointed up toward the ceiling. He stood pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

Pam was utterly stupefied, not having known that Eric had any children besides herself. She was so dumbfounded, in fact, that she did not realize that Eric was fighting to regain control of himself, was dangerously close to tears. When he had reigned his emotions in sufficiently to find his voice, he spoke without turning to face her.

"She met the true death hundreds of years before I found you," his voice was shaky, finally alerting Pam to his emotions. He cleared his throat forcefully and she relaxed slightly out of her tense pose. "I will tell you about her, if you wish, but I need some time. The only thing that kept me from going mad when she died was Godric and since he, too, has met the true death, I need to be comfortable thinking of her before I can speak of her," he said in a level tone. "And it was Aisha," he pronounced it eye-sha as opposed to aye-sha as Pam had said.

"Of course, Master," Pam said after a beat of silence, uncharacteristically respectful. Losing a Child was second only to losing one's Maker, something Pam could not even comprehend. Her stomach twisted in sympathy for Eric, but she knew that any move to comfort him would not be welcome. Soundlessly she made her way to the door and out into the bar. Eric steeled his will and went to the desk, righting the chair and sitting heavily in front of the computer. The screen displayed all the known details and he felt a physical pain, not unlike silver being constricted around his throat.

**Name: Aisha Norde Maker: Godric**

**Origin: Samaria Years: 19 human; 282 Vampire**

**Turned in 1348. Met the True Death in 1608. Details not known.**

The sight of that screen, those few scant words being all that remained as tribute to describe the most vivacious, hot blooded, the most…**alive** woman he had ever known in over a thousand years on this earth; the sensation was physically offensive to him. The pain of her loss, something that Godric had worked to help Eric suppress for centuries, was as raw and real as it had been the day she died over five hundred years ago.

Though his eyes were focused on the computer screen he could see her face, brought suddenly and vividly into detail in his mind, as he recalled the first time he had laid eyes on her.

…

HE WAS in Samaria with Godric after they had decided together to 'tour the world'. Since leaving Eric's native Sweden, they had been taking their time in each new place, and had now reached this turbulent land. They had just risen for the night and taken to the streets of the city. They wandered to the temple, which was not only a place of worship but often also the commerce center. It had been a market day and several of the vendors were still at their stands, unwilling to pack up and let their neighbor make the final sale.

The interior of the building was pulsating with life as they entered. Torches were mounted every few feet along the walls after sunset, and the place was well lit in result. Godric had been explaining to Eric his theory on the Black Death, a scourge that at the time was ravaging his homeland in the west, when Eric glanced up and caught sight of her. Everything else, all the voices squabbling over prices, the smells of the bodies churning together, the clinking of coins onto scales, everything had dissipated as he'd focused on her.

She was standing a few feet away from a stall overflowing with produce and there was no way he could have missed her. She was tall, much taller than even the men around her, slender, with copper bangles on both thin wrists, glinting in the torchlight. She was clearly part of a Midian clan, a traveling tribe of sheepherders, with her long flowing skirt of rough wool and a loose fitting tunic sliding from her shoulders. A thin veil was askance on her head, covering a mass of thick, dark curls.

Her skin was a shimmering golden brown, luminous, as if it were glowing under the surface. She'd had a huge, ripe fruit in her hand. A mango, he recalled. And just as he'd caught sight of her, she held it out away from herself and leaned over to bite into it.

He would swear for decades after, to her unflagging delight, that he had heard her teeth puncture the skin, smelled the fragrance of the fruit burst from the flesh from where he stood yards away, had been transfixed by her in that moment.

The juice gushed over her chin and her eyes closed in ecstasy. She'd bitten off a huge portion, pocketing it in her cheek and wiping her face with the back of her free hand. He watched her swallow, her slender neck working as she did so. She turned the hand holding the fruit and licked the juice from the side of her arm, wholly engrossed. This is how he had always recalled her; completely absorbed in the act of living. Whether she was making love or mending a shirt, she gave her full and undivided attention to the task at hand. The memory of that vivacity, that zest for life, twisted a knife in Eric's heart.

She had glanced up, feeling his gaze on her, as she was sucking the juice from the palm of her hand. Her green eyes had widened, she'd been momentarily embarrassed at being caught eating so messily. She recovered quickly, though, popping the remainder of the fruit into her mouth and quirking her full lips up in an unapologetic smile at him as she chewed. She delicately spit the seed into her hand, winked at him mischievously, then turned and melted into the throng of people around her. He'd been utterly bewitched.

**A/N Beta research concludes that mangoes weren't necessarily called 'mangoes' at that time but I like the visual so I left it in there, hoping we can kind of gloss over it =)**


	2. Not Her Child

**Another revamp (heh) after the help of the wonderful BathshebaRocks and her supernatural Beta-ing powers =) Hope you enjoy! Oh yes, Charlaine Harris and Allan Ball own pert' near everything.**

Pam paced behind the bar of Fangtasia. Twitched, actually, would be a better word. She was clearly agitated but Chow didn't have time for it tonight. The place was packed and the last thing he needed was Pam under his feet as he was attempting to serve the many patrons clamoring for his attention.

"Hey, Malibu Barbie. Make yourself useful and man the door," he said offhandedly as he grabbed two bottles of True Blood (Type O) from the microwave. She snarled at the bartender and flitted to the entrance.

Ok, that scared him. What the fuck was going on that Sunday Adams (like Wednesday Adams in pastels) decided to listen to him, forgoing insults and threats to his person? Probably something to do with the Queen and that whole fucked up situation a.k.a. something he could give a fuck less about. As far as Chow was concerned, Eric would let him know when to panic. Since that hadn't happened yet, he would focus on his job. He shook his head to clear it and slid the bottles to two customers at the end of the bar.

Pam's thoughts were a tangled mess. She was upset, pissed off and hurt. Obviously, there was no law governing the number of Children a vampire could create. Certainly Eric's existence had been long enough to warrant more than one. Reflecting on that fact, Pam realized she was foolish to think she'd been his first Child.

Feeling foolish was on Pam's '_List of Least Favorite Things To Do'_, ranking somewhere between housework and looking at human children. Foolish though it was, she was hurt by this revelation; and jealous; and curious. She knew Eric well enough to know that he would tell her in his own good time whatever he thought she should know, but she wanted to know it all. And she wanted to know it now. And Chow was a moron if he thought she wasn't going to nail his ass for the Malibu Barbie comment.

Downstairs, Eric was lost in his reverie, staring blindly at the computer screen, hands folded tightly in front of him.

...

HE HADN'T SEEN her for weeks after that first chance encounter at the temple. He had been intrigued by her, of course, but was reluctant to seek her out. In his experience, beautiful women held their allure until the last faint stutter of their beating heart. He wanted her to last, wanted to be able to savor the mystery and appeal she held for him without stealing away the vivacity he so clearly recalled pulsating out of her at the marketplace.

Godric knew that he was preoccupied, of course, and guessed correctly that it was a woman. It had seemed to Eric that Godric had known him better than he knew himself, even from the night he took his human life. Of course part of that was the bond between Maker and Child, but part of it was because Godric was by nature intuitive.

He instinctively knew things, not only about Eric, but about the world at large. He seemed always to know who they should hunt, who they should let live, and when they should move on. Eric had learned early on not to question his Maker and as a result of this compliance, their bond had grown past the boundaries of Maker and Child. They were truly brothers.

Godric decided to let Eric torture himself if he would. He knew that it was only a matter of time before his Child would seek the woman out, whoever she was. He was nothing if not indulgent. The time would come. Until then, he enjoyed watching Eric as a lovesick youth, interested in nothing and woebegone at the prospect of living without her. It had happened before. Surely it would happen again. Of course, this time it would be different but he hadn't realized it then. He didn't know that this girl would be his Child's match.

Then he knew, without a doubt, that she would join them in their journey through the night. The way Eric looked at Aisha, the longing on his face, called to mind nothing more clearly than the first night Godric had seen Eric. Granted, Eric's desire was sexual in nature while Godric's had been admiring. He had never seen a man move the way Eric had moved on that battlefield. His grace was otherworldly; his long, lean body twisting through the night air, his sword slicing through the darkness and into men's flesh.

He had been merciless and fierce.

He had been a god that night.

He had truly been the most beautiful thing Godric had ever seen. He knew he had to turn him as surely as he knew Eric would turn Aisha that first time he saw their eyes meet. He told Eric all of this hundreds of years later, after Aisha's final death. It was a balm to Eric's pain, and Godric had been willing to do anything to ease his Child's hurt.

…

They had been out in the city, stalking two men to their homes on the outskirts. It hadn't been Eric's first choice, but Godric thought it would be safer so he had deferred. As they reached the walls of the settlement, their attention had been drawn by the caravan encamped in a clearing to the east. There were some townspeople gathered there and the noise of their revelry could be heard even at a distance.

Eric had looked at Godric, asking silently if they should dispense with these men and look for fairer game.

Godric hesitated, then quirked an eyebrow up. 'Why not?' Eric shot him a sly grin and they immediately changed direction.

As they approached the tents, they could hear the Midian music being beaten, slow and sensual, out of the drums the clan was famous for. Other instruments that Eric couldn't identify accompanied the tattoo. His people were not music makers and he found himself uninterested in the details, though captivated by the sounds.

There was the unmistakable scent of sandalwood, curling through a myriad of other aromas; roasting sheep flesh, hashish smoldering, incense and sweat and excitement. The townspeople were always intrigued by the travelers and the travelers were likewise interested in fresh faces. The air was thrumming with the possibilities and Eric felt himself being pulled into it. They made their way in through the crowd: people standing and talking; sitting around random fires and laughing; people eating, children running through the legs of their elders.

They drew stares here, as they did everywhere. Men and women alike were attracted to them. The men for reasons they couldn't define, the women for more obvious ones. They were both handsome, perfectly made. The women were instinctively drawn to them the way a lioness was drawn to the dominant lion. They were elite hunters, alpha males in the extreme and this, then as now, called to the women on an animal level. It couldn't be named, there was no ready explanation, it just was. Women wanted them. So of course they drew stares as they made their way through the crowd.

It took Godric only moments to choose a young woman for himself. Eric recognized the moment that Godric had leveled that lazy, seductive stare at her because he heard her heart falter and then quicken its beat. He knew Godric's game. He would want the girl to come to him as opposed to approaching her himself.

He would send a few of these looks her way, timed perfectly to leave her wondering if maybe she'd imagined the whole thing and then at last he would stare at her, drawing her forward with his eyes. No matter the number of times Eric had seen him do it, with men and women alike, he never failed to be amazed by it. Of course, there were also times when Godric would descend like the angel of death and ravage an entire village with, or without, Eric's help. That, too, was an awesome sight.

Eric had been perusing the crowd, scanning for a suitable victim, when he'd seen her again. He hadn't known it was her immediately, as she was facing away from him, but he'd been intrigued nonetheless. She was dancing around a fire, her bare feet stamping into the dust, tiny chips of shells jingling on the bracelets around her ankles.

Her skirt was swaying with the rhythm of her hips; a slow, seductive movement. She had thin chains around her stomach, the shells dangling from them as well. Tonight she was not in the oversized tunic but a linen wrap, tied around her breasts, baring the most delicious expanse of skin Eric had ever seen. The fire was glowing on her back, around her sides, warm light reflecting from the bronze canvas. She had her arms extended above her head, the bangles tinkling against each other as her wrists flicked back and forth.

Her dark, glossy hair cascaded down her back as she twisted under the night sky, the firelight enriching it's color. Eric had quite forgotten himself, entranced as he was by the sway of her hips, the strong muscles gliding under her supple skin. When she turned to face him, he felt the shock of recognition as he took in her achingly familiar face.

Her skin was smooth, it looked like velvet to him. Her cheeks were flat and high with a dark freckle gracing the curve on the left side of her face. Her jaw was sharp and strong. She had a perfectly straight nose which knifed its way through the center of her face, lending her an aristocratic profile. She had complained of that nose more than once, but to Eric it was further testament to her perfection.

An absolutely even cupid's bow dipped into the fullest, pinkest lips he'd ever seen. Her mouth was not wide, but her lips were so full, it almost seemed that she was bracing for a kiss even when she was relaxed. And the pink color never faded, even after he'd turned her. It was almost unreal, against the teak color of her skin.

Her eyes were wide with thick black lashes framing them, resting under expressive brows. He'd proclaimed, more than once, that he could have an entire conversation with her without ever seeing her mouth. Not that he'd wanted to. He cherished every part of her.

When she had turned with the music, he had taken the opportunity to study her face raptly. He was keenly aware that Godric had taken notice too, had seen that this must be the one that had ensnared his attention weeks before. He sensed his Maker's amusement just at the moment that she had looked up and seen him.

Those wide green eyes recognized him immediately and neither of them broke the stare. She continued to dance, never missing a beat. He could almost feel a cord pulling him closer to her, the need to touch her was overwhelming. It took him a few moments to realize he was unconsciously edging closer to her, maintaining that smoldering stare.

Eric suddenly felt a restraining hand on his bicep and immediately stopped. He turned to face Godric, who shook his head infinitesimally and spoke in a voice no human could have heard. Even if they could have, they wouldn't have understood the language.

"Later. She is surrounded by her family now. Wait for her to come to you," he advised in Swedish. Eric was impatient to get to her but ceded to his Maker's advice. Just then a bundle of rags crashed into the girls legs and she threw her head back laughing. Eric noticed she had tiny white teeth positioned evenly together. Her laugh was deep and infectious. He actually found himself smiling.

She bent and scooped the toddler up in a liquid movement, hugging it to her chest. He watched it's little legs wrap around her middle and it's little hands touch her face softly, fingers slipping into her mouth. She made a face like they tasted bad, much to the child's delight. She hoisted the bundle (a girl, judging by the hair) more securely and puckered up for a kiss, fluttering her eyes closed as she did so, and Eric was very nearly undone.

The little girl leaned in and kissed her squarely on the lips, apparently drooling as the woman made an exaggerated face at the residue. Again the child laughed happily and clapped. She leaned over and sat the girl down, rattling something off in a husky voice, using the strange Midian tongue that the clans spoke. It sounded then to Eric like silver clanging on the rough metal of scales in the marketplace. He'd never been able to make sense of it.

The little girl turned sharply and pointed a finger up at her, piping out a shrill response. She put her hands on her hips theatrically and gave the little girl a stern look, fighting back laughter. By now the group around the fire was absorbed in the melodrama, chuckling good-naturedly at the two. Eric was totally shocked to find himself laughing as well. He cut his eyes to Godric, who was staring intently at him, the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. Eric shrugged and Godric shook his head slightly, turning to melt into the crowd.

Eric looked back toward the scene in time to see the little girl turning to trudge away. She pushed her little sleeves up on her arms and impatiently shoved the cloud of her hair away from her brow in a gesture he remembered vividly from weeks ago. His focus sharpened on the tiny face. Straight nose wrinkled in frustration, pouty lips pursed, wide eyebrows drawn down over her eyes. She was the woman in miniature, a near exact replica. He looked up to the woman, hoping he was wrong. He had envisioned many things since the time he'd met her but he hadn't envisioned her being a mother.

He had left his own children behind him when he had traded the sun for the moon and the stars. Though Eric was not then, and never would be, overly sentimental, it had been hard knowing that they were left without him; likely without protection; possibly left to die. Definitely dead by now.

He furrowed his brow. He couldn't imagine taking this woman from her children. Why, he couldn't have said. He had done before without a second thought. It was their nature, as Godric said. They were even, perhaps, the hands of fate. Meting out destiny night after night.

Godric had pretty words to wrap around Eric, to make him realize that he was what he was. He'd done what he'd had to do, as a Maker, to help Eric come to grips with his new reality. And Eric loved him for it.

But with this woman- with her - he couldn't do this. It hadn't yet occurred to Eric that he may make her vampire. Keep her with him always, to roam the night. He was thinking only of taking her, making love with her, tasting her. That, in his experience, would lead to her death. So he looked up to her face, hoping he would see a different face than the little girl's but knowing he would not.

What he saw was her smiling at him, cheeks dimpled charmingly, shaking her head. She pointed at her taut stomach and made a "no" motion with her hands, pointing after the little girl. Eric understood immediately. Not her child. He smiled at her, conveying his understanding. She nodded and started toward him. Without knowing why, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he watched her approach. It was only dimly that he realized he was nervous.

She reached him quickly, stopping directly in front of him. She was tall but of course, he was taller. He towered over her by at least six inches. She looked up at him, fearlessly, and spoke in Hebrew.

"You speak Hebrew?" she asked. She had a husky, naturally sultry voice. Like everything else about her, he found it alluring.

"I do," he answered. "I am Eric," he introduced himself.

"Eric," she repeated. Her pronunciation was was hard, it came out 'ay-reek'. He raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I am Aisha," she beamed at him.

"Aisha," he repeated, his voice caressing the word. Her eyes glowed up at him as she nodded, effectively turning his world on it's side.

**A/N Ok so hopefully I will be able to get this show on the road, now that I have assistance in Beta form. With our powers combined… =)**


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